


Move Over Baby, Gimme the Keys

by Kathar



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Unrepentant Fluff, vehicle porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathar/pseuds/Kathar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's stuck in rehab, and Lola's been seen around town without him. Barton is sent to make sure his baby is safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move Over Baby, Gimme the Keys

**Author's Note:**

> So this just kind of... happened. Happy to add to the general Lola squee.

_Footsteps echo through the concrete vaulting, the stride quick and sure. In the dark, a flashlight flicks on along her side, tracing the chrome lightly, tenderly back to her door. She gleams more garnet than cherry under the light. A hand slips in to caress the handle, ease it open gently._

_“Hello, Lola,” he says as he slides into the black interior, letting himself be cradled in the leather seat, “Has he been neglecting you, baby? You’re not the kind of girl to stand for that, are you?” He inserts the key gently into her ignition, clicking his tongue at the cough in her purr as she turns over. “Oh, baby, baby, we need to show him how to treat a girl like you.” He slips out, running a hand gently down over her steering wheel, swirling round her odometer to brush the dust off, patting her reassuringly as he moves. The hand slips up under her hood, lifts it gently. “Yes,” he sighs, “you just need a little lubrication and a little love.”_

__

The first video arrived in Phil’s inbox not long after a grueling round of physical therapy, followed by yet another session in which the doctors refused to commit to anything resembling a release date. Clint Barton was sitting in the room with him, earphones in his ears, ridiculous arms crossed over his chest, and pretending to nap so that Phil could have space to sulk without embarrassing himself. Phil embarrassed himself anyway, when the video loaded.

“NO!” He cried, or yelped, or possibly squawked. It was completely devoid of anything resembling dignity, and it brought Barton upright and at his side faster than he could think. 

“Coulson?” Phil couldn’t trust himself to speak yet, and he pointed at the screen. The camera shot was sliding slowly around Lola’s roman red flank, across the gleaming chrome on her front, panning back to show her lolling smugly on a green lawn somewhere, blindingly bright in the sun. He could have sworn she panted.

“Hey, Lola!” Barton said happily, before processing Phil’s distress. “She’s looking good, boss. Something wrong?”

“She shouldn’t be out there! Who took her out? I didn’t give anyone permission to--” Phil stopped, clutching his chest a little. Barton looked at him askance, and laid a hand on his shoulder, massaging absently.

“Maybe she got tired of being cooped up, boss,” he said, “it happens.” 

“Goddamnit, Barton, just find out who did this. Stark. I bet it was Stark. He keeps trying to get me to sell her.”  
__

It wasn’t Stark. It very clearly wasn’t Stark, because he was sitting with Phil, idly sketching out designs for the world’s most pimped-out secret agent cane, when the second video came a week later. 

“Oh my god, Coulson, you liar!” He yelped, dropping his tablet onto Phil’s knee and crowding over his shoulder. “That’s Lola! Who’ve you been letting take out Lola? I mean, who’ve you been letting take Lola out who _isn't me?”_

“Stark, it was never _going_ to be you, and I’m not _letting_ anyone do it,” Phil said, watching glumly as the view shifted from exterior (Lola idling happily by the side of a mountain road) to an interior dash-cam view. Both of the men choked off a whimper as the engine turned over and Lola purred into life. 

“Is that why Barton was in my garage the other day?” Stark’s voice was nearly a whisper as they watched the mountain road fly by Lola’s flanks, her bonnet nosing around corners without slowing, shooting by stands of trees in the time it took to draw breath. Her purr had turned into a low, content growl. “He was spying on me. _You_ sent him. I should have known. I’ve never known a spy so bad at looking innocent. Thought you trained him better than that.” 

“I had to check, Stark.” 

“I guess you do, if your baby’s stepping out on you. Well, if it’s not me and it’s not Barton, I put my money on either Natasha or Steve.” 

____ 

“ _Rogers?_ ” Barton laughed out loud when Phil told him the Steve theory, and he nearly dropped the resistance bands he was holding. Phil tugged them to get his mind back on matters, then continued his reps. “No, I doubt it was Rogers,” he looked amused. “Guy’s got his bike, I don’t think he cares about Lola at the moment.” Phil glared at him. 

“Lola doesn’t need anyone else,” he growled. “I take care of her.” 

“Well,” Barton said, gathering the resistance bands and standing up, leaving Phil to glare at his ass, “ _You_ are stuck in here and _she_ isn’t. Maybe she wants a little attention.” 

“Barton, she’s... we’re... she’s a car. She’s just a car.” 

“Says the man who’s treating this like his lover’s cheating on him. You know as well as I do, Coulson, whatever Lola wants... Lola _gets._ ” His voice had dropped low, and he thrust one hip out in a minute shimmy as he crossed to the window to put the bands away. Phil watched him all the way, mouth dry.

“Just, please, ask Natasha. Ask, I don’t know, ask Sitwell. Ask Fury. It had to be one of them.” 

“Sure thing, Boss,” Clint said, and walked out whistling under his breath. 

__ 

It wasn’t one of them, although Nick Fury had laughed until he was breathless when he caught sight of Phil watching one of those videos forlornly while doing leg exercises. Lola was driving through Manhattan at night, and the Kinks were blasting from her stereo. 

“Wasn’t me, Phil,” he said, as he watched Lola burble as she idled at a light, the clubbers caught in her headlights bopping a little in time to _No More Looking Back._ “Not surprised, though. Maybe you just don’t got enough class.” 

“ _No Prince._ I swear to god, Nick, I will end you. Spare us that indignity.” He looked back at the video. A few extra reps couldn’t hurt. And maybe he’d let Stark make him that cane after all.

__ 

Clint rubbed his shoulders sympathetically the next day, when Phil showed him the latest video. Lola was on some back road on the shoreline, racing over dunes, scattering seagulls every which way, and the Kinks were playing again. Clint spent half the video trying to be understanding, but by the end he was burbling “ _Lola, lo lo lo lo lo Lola_ ” along with the soundtrack. Phil looked back at him, only belatedly realizing the movement would have been impossible short weeks ago. 

“You haven’t found anything?” 

“Not a thing, boss,” Clint said, smiling down at him. “Not a damn thing. She’s always returned in top condition, gas tank full. It’s almost as if she's being borrowed by a very considerate spy. Know any of those?” 

“No-one who works at SHIELD,’” Phil grumbled, and looked back at the screen. Lola did seem to be enjoying the attention. Whoever’s hands were underneath the driving gloves that sometimes appeared on screen, they were taking good care of his girl. She'd never been good at sitting idle; it was just that he wanted to be the one out there. The doctors had finally started suggesting dates, but they weren't coming fast enough. 

Clint chafed his shoulders briskly, and said “You’ll get back to her soon enough. She knows you miss her.” Phil laid a hand over his, pressing it gently to his shoulder, and looked up. “I tell her that each time I check on her.” Barton admitted, as if consoling a small red sports car was an everyday thing for him. Phil frowned, and figured he maybe could increase his time in the therapy pool. 

__

The last video arrived on his tablet just as he was waiting in the lobby of the nursing home for SHIELD’s assigned agent to pick him up. Stark’s custom cane had been delivered, and he was slowly getting used to having it as an extension of himself. He’d already caught himself sliding it surreptitiously into the path of that one idiot nurse who always crowded him in the hallway. He could tell it was going to do dangerous things to his self-control. 

The video showed Lola, sitting in the driveway outside the nursing home, her little roman red rocket body quivering and her chrome twinkling. Clint Fucking Barton was leaning against her, arms crossed, and he was whistling again. _Whatever Lola wants... Lola gets...._ Phil felt his face drop, then flush, and then who knew what contortions it was going through. 

He stumped outside with a lack of grace that would have alarmed him pre-Loki. Natasha was taking the video (of course she was), and she turned to grin at him. 

“Goddamnit, Clint” he started, his voice caught between bark and yelp, and then his breath stopped, because Clint had moved to hold the driver’s door open for him and all he could think of was red leather.  
He was inside her and sitting before he realized Clint had handed him in, and Clint was tossing his bag in the trunk. He was still whistling. _And little man, little Lola wants you._ Natasha leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, and he felt Clint slide into the seat next to him and settle in. _I always get what I aim for,_ he was humming now. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Natasha whispered in Phil’s ear. Clint was grinning, blindingly genuine, wide enough that it nearly passed for a dare and not camouflage for the uncertainty in his eyes. Lola was purring, responsive to the least pressure of his foot on the pedal, her gauges winking at him in the sunlight. Phil let the clutch out, and placed his hand over Clint’s where it rested on his thigh, just briefly. _And your heart and soul is what I came for._

“Thank you for taking care of her, Clint. Let’s go home,” he said, and was rewarded with getting to watch Clint’s grin reach his ears and keep going. 

The Kinks were still on the stereo, so they both sang along to _Lola_ when it came on. Clint had the good sense to wait until they were nearly back in town and Phil needed both hands on the wheel in heavy traffic before he started up Prince. He blamed it on Fury, later. Lola, she just slipped in and out of the sunlight and the traffic patterns and ran as long as he would let her. 

End. 

**Author's Note:**

> Because while I love the Kinks, my internal soundtrack when I saw Lola went right to Damn Yankees and stuck. This started out as a drabble from Clint's POV but rapidly turned too angsty. That's a bad habit, Clint.
> 
> Title from Prince's Little Red Corvette, because I'm with Clint and Fury.


End file.
